Gentlemen in Bath
by Benfan
Summary: Sherlock is sitting in the bathtub - fully dressed - and refuses to get out. Little domestic (no slash) between John and Sherlock with an unexpected outcome. Just a funny little one-shot that crossed my mind, inspired by the picture of the bathtub from Sherlock and John's bathroom that appeared on the internet a couple of days ago.


**This is just a little funny one-shot. Enjoy - reviews are much appreciated! ;-) **

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The shift in the practice had been very long and stressful and John was longing for a hot, prolonged bath. Sherlock didn't seem to be at home, so he was looking forward to a peaceful hour of being immersed in water of just the right temperature without any disturbance by the sometimes really annoying Consulting Detective who simply couldn't understand the extent of relaxation this activity – or rather non-activity – held. For him showers and baths were only to clean your body; that they could also clean your soul was incomprehensible to him.

John stripped off his clothes and threw them carelessly on his bed. They could be looked after later. He took his dressing gown from the hook at the door and wrapped himself in the soft terry towelling. He padded to the bathroom, stopping in the kitchen to pour himself a tiny glass of whiskey. That was the greatest pleasure – a little sip of a good whiskey in the bath. He knew that it was slightly risky to have alcohol in a hot bath, but he only had a very little drink.

He entered the bathroom when he saw something from the corner of his eyes and jumped. Sherlock was sitting in the bathtub – fully dressed and without any water, his hands steepled under his chin, his eyes closed.

"Sherlock, what are you doing in here? I mean, apart from the obvious?"

"I am sitting in the bathtub."

"Actually, that_ is_ the obvious. But what are you _doing_?"

"Could you pass me the rubber duck?"

John almost dropped his whiskey glass.

"What?"

They actually had a rubber duck that was sitting on the shelf. It had been one of those useless presents that colleagues gave to each other at those Christmas parties where you're supposed to bring something that you no longer need. Actually, the rubber duck hadn't been the worst of all the presents. However, Sherlock had more than once expressed his dismay about the toy in the bathroom.

"Unless you are suffering from sudden deafness, you have pretty well understood my request, so _please_!" Sherlock stretched out a hand and waved it impatiently.

John raised his eyebrows in amazement, then frowned, pursing his lips.

"What exactly are you planning to do with it? Just in case you haven't noticed: there is no water in the bathtub. Even if there were some in it, what could you possibly want to do with a rubber duck?"

"Have it in the bathtub with me, for example."

John burst out laughing, causing Sherlock to open his eyes and glare at him.

"What's so funny about it?"

John choked. "You're kidding, aren't you? Honestly, Sherlock, I've had a very exhausting day and I would really love to take a bath now. So, could you, please, be so kind and leave the bathtub."

"But _I'm_ sitting in it. Find another place."

"Sherlock, there is no other place to have a bath in than in the bathtub! But there are other places to lie on! Take the sofa, for instance. You may even take the rubber duck with you, if that's of any help to you."

"John, it is OCCUPIED! Take a shower then!"

Sherlock turned his head away from John and closed his eyes again.

"You behave like a child! Get out of the tub or I'll turn on the water!"

There was no reaction coming from the Consulting Detective.

John remembered the whiskey glass in his hand, emptied it at one swallow, put in on the side of the sink and turned on the tap of the bathtub, soaking Sherlock's fine black suit pants.

The tall man in the tub moved slightly, the cloth on the enamel making squeaky sounds.

"What are you doing?" he enquired.

"What do you think I am doing? I warned you! I want to take a bath and I want to take it now. So. Get. Out. Of. The. Tub. NOW!"

"I'm all wet now," Sherlock complained.

"If you keep sitting in there you will be soaked within quite a short time, so move your ..., " John's voice trailed off. This was ridiculous!

"No," was Sherlock's brisk reply.

"Then budge up and let me in."

Sherlock disbelievingly blinked his eyes. "You're insane!"

"No more than you, apparently."

"There's even too little space for me alone in this tub, I have to fold my legs to my ears to be able to sit in it. So, how do you think that two people could fit in here?"

"Actually, Sherlock, as you're mentioning it yourself: there _are_ better places for you to sit. And yes, I know how two people can fit into this bathtub, but that wouldn't usually be you and me, but me and some nice – _female_ – person. I'm not going into any further detail. Now stop this and go away!"

"No."

John was quite angry by now. He took the rubber duck and threw it into the tub quite violently. The water was already covering half of Sherlock's legs. Only then did the furious doctor notice that he had only turned on the cold tap. The water had to be freezing cold – and so would Sherlock soon be.

"Sherlock, I know that this is not quite the temperature that I or even you would normally choose, so get out and get off your wet clothes."

"No."

"Damn it, you bloody stubborn idiot! Well, then stay in and catch your death!"

John stomped from the bathroom, shaking his head in disbelief of what had just taken place in there. He made himself a cup of tea, sat down in his favourite armchair and waited. Eventually, Sherlock _had_ to get out of the bath some time.

After an hour or so, John was cold himself, still only being dressed in his dressing gown, but Sherlock hadn't emerged from the bathroom, yet. In fact, Doctor John had been pestering for quite a while to check on the Consulting Detective, but flatmate John was too annoyed. Finally, the doctor won and John made his way to the bathroom again.

"Sherlock, you alright? I wondered if you might be a bit cold…"

He peered into the room. Sherlock was still sitting in the bathtub, his lips slightly blue, the water almost overflowing and the tap still on. Apparently, the overflow had prevented the bathroom from turning into a late winter swimming pool.

"Damn it, mate, what do you think you are proving here, eh?" John hastily turned off the cold water.

"Nnnnothing,"Sherlock stuttered, his teeth chattering.

"It looks slightly different to me, though. How long are you planning to stay in there? Do you want me to get you some food or a _hot_ tea by chance?" John taunted.

"Nnnno, th…..anks." the shivering man in the bath replied rather weakly.

"Ok, that's enough!"

John stepped forward and determinedly pulled at Sherlock's arm to get him out of the water. If he behaved like a child he deserved to be treated like one. Waves of cold water splashed over the rim of the tub.

"ARGH!" the Consulting Detective screamed and tried to fight John's firm grip. He had turned incredibly pale, his blue-ish lips building a strong contrast to his complexion.

John instantly let go of Sherlock's, who slipped back into his old position in the bath, causing a tsunami in the tub and more waves of water splashing on the floor. Suddenly everything shifted into place in John's mind.

"Could it probably be that – whatever reason might have brought you _into_ the bathtub fully dressed – there is a particular reason why you don't get _out?_ Why you _can't_ get out?"

Sherlock ground his teeth and gave the faintest hint of a nod.

"Let me guess, mate. It hurts when you try to sit up, right?"

"Lllike h…hell," he admitted with his teeth chattering.

"That pretty much sounds like lumbago. Why, for God's sake, didn't you tell me?"

"Thought I'd mmmanage."

"I see. You know, Sherlock, pride can be a very nasty trait sometimes. It can even make you sick – worse than now!"

"Hhhelp mmme outtt," the shivering man responded sheepishly.

"Yup, I will. But before we get you out, you'll have to have a hot bath, well, rather warm. I'll change the water and while you warm up I'll get some painkillers and then we'll get you out of here."

Sherlock hadn't had the chance to change the water, its temperature, or to even turn it off as the taps were on the opposite side of where he was leaning. That bloody stubborn child!

John pulled the bath plug and let the icy water drain from the tub. He should have known better than to leave Sherlock in it for an hour. He was definitely suffering from hypothermia by now and needed slow warming up, so the first bath would only be lukewarm. It would take hours to have Sherlock at a normal temperature and to get him out of the bathtub, so good-bye to his own relaxing bath.

Additionally, it was very likely that the Consulting Detective had caught a cold, if nothing more serious that needed further care.

After half of the cold water had drained from the tub, John turned on the hot water tap and constantly checked on the water temperature and on Sherlock, who looked miserable, his teeth chattering violently. If it hadn't been his excessive pride that had brought him into this situation, John would even have felt sympathy for him.

The rubber duck was rolling from side to side when it swam into the splashing water from the tap. John watched it for a while, then caught it and threw it at the wall. Bloody rubber duck! It had just squandered its right to exist…

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**This was inspired by _Prothoe_ who, during my busiest times, provided me with the links to the most recent Sherlock pictures – among them the picture of the bathtub of Sherlock's bathroom – and her vision of John and Sherlock in the bathtub, which, in turn, was inspired by a sketch by Germany's most brilliant comedian, Loriot. You can find it in an English version on youtube (German humour: gentlemen in bath by Loriot).**

**BTW: I was assuming that there is a separate shower in their bathroom.**


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